Anatole had lately moved to Dolokhov's. The plan for NatalieRostova's abduction had been arranged and the preparations made byDolokhov a few days before, and on the day that Sonya, after listeningat Natasha's door, resolved to safeguard her, it was to have beenput into execution. Natasha had promised to come out to Kuragin at theback porch at ten that evening. Kuragin was to put her into a troykahe would have ready and to drive her forty miles to the village ofKamenka, where an unfrocked priest was in readiness to perform amarriage ceremony over them. At Kamenka a relay of horses was towait which would take them to the Warsaw highroad, and from there theywould hasten abroad with post horses.

Anatole had a passport, an order for post horses, ten thousandrubles he had taken from his sister and another ten thousandborrowed with Dolokhov's help.

Two witnesses for the mock marriage- Khvostikov, a retired pettyofficial whom Dolokhov made use of in his gambling transactions, andMakarin, a retired hussar, a kindly, weak fellow who had anunbounded affection for Kuragin- were sitting at tea in Dolokhov'sfront room.

In his large study, the walls of which were hung to the ceiling withPersian rugs, bearskins, and weapons, sat Dolokhov in a travelingcloak and high boots, at an open desk on which lay abacus and somebundles of paper money. Anatole, with uniform unbuttoned, walked toand fro from the room where the witnesses were sitting, through thestudy to the room behind, where his French valet and others werepacking the last of his things. Dolokhov was counting the money andnoting something down.

"Well," he said, "Khvostikov must have two thousand."

"Give it to him, then," said Anatole.

"Makarka" (their name for Makarin) "will go through fire and waterfor you for nothing. So here are our accounts all settled," saidDolokhov, showing him the memorandum. "Is that right?"

"Yes, of course," returned Anatole, evidently not listening toDolokhov and looking straight before him with a smile that did notleave his face.

Dolokhov banged down the or of his and turned to Anatole with anironic smile:

Anatole returned and looked at Dolokhov, trying to give him hisattention and evidently submitting to him involuntarily.

"Now listen to me. I'm telling you this for the last time. Whyshould I joke about it? Did I hinder you? Who arranged everythingfor you? Who found the priest and got the passport? Who raised themoney? I did it all."

"Well, thank you for it. Do you think I am not grateful?" AndAnatole sighed and embraced Dolokhov.

"I helped you, but all the same I must tell you the truth; it is adangerous business, and if you think about it- a stupid business.Well, you'll carry her off- all right! Will they let it stop atthat? It will come out that you're already married. Why, they'llhave you in the criminal court...."

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" Anatole ejaculated and again made agrimace. "Didn't I explain to you? What?" And Anatole, with thepartiality dull-witted people have for any conclusion they havereached by their own reasoning, repeated the argument he had alreadyput to Dolokhov a hundred times. "Didn't I explain to you that Ihave come to this conclusion: if this marriage is invalid," he wenton, crooking one finger, "then I have nothing to answer for; but if itis valid, no matter! Abroad no one will know anything about it.Isn't that so? And don't talk to me, don't, don't."

"Go to the devil!" cried Anatole and, clutching his hair, left theroom, but returned at once and dropped into an armchair in front ofDolokhov with his feet turned under him. "It's the very devil! What?Feel how it beats!" He took Dolokhov's hand and put it on his heart."What a foot, my dear fellow! What a glance! A goddess!" he added inFrench. "What?"

Dolokhov with a cold smile and a gleam in his handsome insolent eyeslooked at him- evidently wishing to get some more amusement out ofhim.

Dolokhov put away the money, called a footman whom he ordered tobring something for them to eat and drink before the journey, and wentinto the room where Khvostikov and Makarin were sitting.

Anatole lay on the sofa in the study leaning on his elbow andsmiling pensively, while his handsome lips muttered tenderly tohimself.

"Come and eat something. Have a drink!" Dolokhov shouted to him fromthe other room.

"I don't want to," answered Anatole continuing to smile.

"Come! Balaga is here."

Anatole rose and went into the dining room. Balaga was a famoustroyka driver who had known Dolokhov and Anatole some six years andhad given them good service with his troykas. More than once whenAnatole's regiment was stationed at Tver he had taken him from Tver inthe evening, brought him to Moscow by daybreak, and driven him backagain the next night. More than once he had enabled Dolokhov to escapewhen pursued. More than once he had driven them through the townwith gypsies and "ladykins" as he called the cocottes. More thanonce in their service he had run over pedestrians and upset vehiclesin the streets of Moscow and had always been protected from theconsequences by "my gentlemen" as he called them. He had ruined morethan one horse in their service. More than once they had beaten him,and more than once they had made him drunk on champagne and Madeira,which he loved; and he knew more than one thing about each of themwhich would long ago have sent an ordinary man to Siberia. Theyoften called Balaga into their orgies and made him drink and danceat the gypsies', and more than one thousand rubles of their moneyhad passed through his hands. In their service he risked his skinand his life twenty times a year, and in their service had lost morehorses than the money he had from them would buy. But he liked them;liked that mad driving at twelve miles an hour, liked upsetting adriver or running down a pedestrian, and flying at full gallop throughthe Moscow streets. He liked to hear those wild, tipsy shouts behindhim: "Get on! Get on!" when it was impossible to go any faster. Heliked giving a painful lash on the neck to some peasant who, more deadthan alive, was already hurrying out of his way. "Real gentlemen!"he considered them.

Anatole and Dolokhov liked Balaga too for his masterly driving andbecause he liked the things they liked. With others Balagabargained, charging twenty-five rubles for a two hours' drive, andrarely drove himself, generally letting his young men do so. Butwith "his gentlemen" he always drove himself and never demandedanything for his work. Only a couple of times a year- when he knewfrom their valets that they had money in hand- he would turn up of amorning quite sober and with a deep bow would ask them to help him.The gentlemen always made him sit down.

"Do help me out, Theodore Ivanych, sir," or "your excellency," hewould say. "I am quite out of horses. Let me have what you can to goto the fair."

And Anatole and Dolokhov, when they had money, would give him athousand or a couple of thousand rubles.

Balaga was a fair-haired, short, and snub-nosed peasant of abouttwenty-seven; red-faced, with a particularly red thick neck,glittering little eyes, and a small beard. He wore a fine,dark-blue, silk-lined cloth coat over a sheepskin.

On entering the room now he crossed himself, turning toward thefront corner of the room, and went up to Dolokhov, holding out asmall, black hand.

"Theodore Ivanych!" he said, bowing.

"How d'you do, friend? Well, here he is!"

"Good day, your excellency!" he said, again holding out his handto Anatole who had just come in.

"I say, Balaga," said Anatole, putting his hands on the man'sshoulders, "do you care for me or not? Eh? Now, do me a service....What horses have you come with? Eh?"

"As your messenger ordered, your special beasts," replied Balaga.

"Well, listen, Balaga! Drive all three to death but get me therein three hours. Eh?"

"Why joke?" said the driver, laughing. "As if I'd grudge mygentlemen anything! As fast as ever the horses can gallop, so fastwe'll go!"

"Ah!" said Anatole. "Well, sit down."

"Yes, sit down!" said Dolokhov.

"I'll stand, Theodore Ivanych."

"Sit down; nonsense! Have a drink!" said Anatole, and filled a largeglass of Madeira for him.

The driver's eyes sparkled at the sight of the wine. Afterrefusing it for manners' sake, he drank it and wiped his mouth witha red silk handkerchief he took out of his cap.

"And when are we to start, your excellency?"

"Well..." Anatole looked at his watch. "We'll start at once. Mind,Balaga! You'll get there in time? Eh?"

"That depends on our luck in starting, else why shouldn't we bethere in time?" replied Balaga. "Didn't we get you to Tver in sevenhours? I think you remember that, your excellency?"

"Do you know, one Christmas I drove from Tver," said Anatole,smilingly at the recollection and turning to Makarin who gazedrapturously at him with wide-open eyes. "Will you believe it, Makarka,it took one's breath away, the rate we flew. We came across a train ofloaded sleighs and drove right over two of them. Eh?"

"Those were horses!" Balaga continued the tale. "That time I'dharnessed two young side horses with the bay in the shafts," he wenton, turning to Dolokhov. "Will you believe it, Theodore Ivanych, thoseanimals flew forty miles? I couldn't hold them in, my hands grewnumb in the sharp frost so that I threw down the reins- 'Catch holdyourself, your excellency!' says I, and I just tumbled on the bottomof the sleigh and sprawled there. It wasn't a case of urging themon, there was no holding them in till we reached the place. The devilstook us there in three hours! Only the near one died of it."

Anatole went out of the room and returned a few minutes laterwearing a fur coat girt with a silver belt, and a sable cap jauntilyset on one side and very becoming to his handsome face. Havinglooked in a mirror, and standing before Dolokhov in the same pose hehad assumed before it, he lifted a glass of wine."Well, good-by, Theodore. Thank you for everything and farewell!"said Anatole. "Well, comrades and friends..." he considered for amoment "...of my youth, farewell!" he said, turning to Makarin and theothers.Though they were all going with him, Anatole evidently wished tomake something touching and solemn out of

On returning late in the evening Sonya went to Natasha's room, andto her surprise found her still dressed and asleep on the sofa. Openon the table, beside her lay Anatole's letter. Sonya picked it upand read it.As she read she glanced at the sleeping Natasha, trying to find inher face an explanation of what she was reading, but did not findit. Her face was calm, gentle, and happy. Clutching her breast to keepherself from choking, Sonya, pale and trembling with fear andagitation, sat down in an armchair and burst into tears."How was it I noticed nothing? How could it go so